When I was a girl there were few
heroines in animation with whom I could identify. Snow White and Cinderella were too good and unattainably
beautiful. I was a bit of a tomboy, so I
recall doing some Wonder Woman and She-Ra: Princess of Power role playing, but
I found their sexy costumes a bit off putting.
It is such a shame that Hayao Miyazaki’s Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind (風の谷のナウシカ,
1984) was not dubbed and released in North America in its original version, for
I suspect my then ten-year-old self would have fallen in love with the gutsy
young heroine Nausicaä.

My suspicions were confirmed when I watched the film on
DVD with my two children. Both Lukas and
Anna loved the film, but my young daughter really warmed to Nausicaä. Her heart melted in the scene where Nausicaä
adopts her furry fox-squirrel companion Teto.
She cheered during the fight scenes and both children were excited by
the dynamic animation of the scenes in which Nausicaä is flying her Mehve jet
glider. They had no great love for
Kushana, the Princess of Tolmekia but warmed to the buffoonery of her
aide-de-camp Kurotowa .

My children are also both
nature-lovers and Nausicaä appealed to their interest in
the environment. The environmentalist
message of Nausicaä is even more important
today than it was in the 1980s, and is so well executed that it won the film the
seal of approval of the World Wildlife Fund (WWF). Nausicaä
is set in a future world in which is facing an environmental apocalypse. Humanity clings to survival on a planet that
is being taken over by the polluted “Sea of Corruption.” The few communities (the Valley of the Wind,
the Pejite, the Tolmekia, and the Dorok) that are left have begun to fight each
other for the dwindling resources. Nausicaä is one of the few who recognizes that in order for people to survive, they need to find a way to live in harmony with the other creatures of the world such
as the Ohmu – giant crustaceans that resemble pillbugs – whereas others see violence
and warfare as their only means of survival.

Flashback sequence animated in a different style.

This is not a film that one can just pop into a DVD player and leave
kids to consume alone. There is a lot of
violence, including the murder of innocents / the defenceless both human and
non-human, and challenging themes (senseless destruction of the environment, warfare,
and so on). I think the part that upset
my children the most was the cruel torture of the Ohmu by the Pejites. Although these are difficult topics, I found
the film really invigorated my kids to talk about how the lessons of the film
can be applied to their own everyday lives.
From discouraging their friends from harming insects and other small
creatures to the day-to-day things we can do to better the natural world around
us, Nausicaä inspired my children to
stand up for what they believe in.

In addition to being a terrific story, Nausicaä is also a fine example of animation. It won Miyazaki his second Noburo
Ofuji Award for innovation at the Mainichi Film Concours. Particularly notable are the exhilarating flying sequences with Nausicaä on the Mehve and the God Warrior sequence animated by Hideaki Anno (of Neon Genesis Evangelion fame). My favourite sequence was the flashback / dream sequence of Nausicaä's youth (image above), which was animated in a completely different style than the rest of the film.

27 January 2012

At
the Mainichi Film Concours earlier this month, Isamu
Hirabayashi (平林勇, b. 1973, Shizuoka)
was awarded the prestigious Noburo Ofuji Award, which celebrates innovation in
animation, for his latest short film 663114
(2011). I was disappointed last year
that no award was given out when there are so many innovative animators working
deserving of recognition by their peers. Hirabayashi is a worthy winner and I am delighted that the Mainichi saw fit to honour him.

Hirabayashi
is a graduate of Musashino Art University.
He initially worked as a graphic designer after graduation, but left his
job to become an independent filmmaker. His
film Textism (2003) won the Grand Prix
at the Image Forum Festival and his following short films have won prizes at
festivals around the world. A
Story Constructed of 17 Pieces of Space and 1 Maggot 2007) made my list of Top 40 Animated Shorts of the Noughties. His
international profile was raised in 2010 when Shikasha was invited to the Cannes’ Director’s Fortnight
and last September, along with Mirai Mizue’s Modern No. 2 (2011), 663114 was invited to the Biennale in Venice.

The
8-minute short was made in response to the devastating earthquake and tsunami
which struck the Tohoku region on March 11, 2011. The story is told by a cicada (セミ) which has been
gestating for 66 years. During the press
conference at the Biennale (see
video), Hirabayashi explained that he chose the cicada because they when
they are nymphs (newly hatched) they must live for a long time underground
(usually 2-5 years, but in some species even longer). When the nymph metamorphosizes into a full-fledged
cicada, it lives for only a week. As we
all know, the earthquake of March 11 triggered many more disasters including
the tsunami and the nuclear meltdowns in Fukushima. The cicadas of the region are now living in
polluted earth, and Hirabayashi feels that they represent “the destiny of
Japanese people.”

Hirabayashi, an interpreter, Watanabe, and Iijima at the 68th Biennale

The
music for the film was composed by Osaka-based sound producer Takashi
Watanabe. (渡辺崇, b. 1976, Hiroshima). He explained that they approached the
soundtrack as if it would be an offering at a temple. He looked to Buddhism and Shintoism in his desire
to create a new kind of sacred music. Keitarō Iijima (Studio 301), the sound producer on 663114, explained that they used Japanese
food for making the soundtrack including nattō
(fermented soybeans), dried Japanese noodles and also cabbage. He echoed Watanabe’s sentiments about the
sacredness of the project for them, emphasizing that he tried to have a sense of
respect for the food that they used throughout the production.

The
title is made up of the age of the cicada ‘66’ and the date of the disaster ‘3/11’,
but a member of the Biennale panel is confused by the number ‘4’ at the end of
the title and asks Hirabayashi to explain the logic behind it. It turns out that the choice of 66 was not
random. Hirabayashi points out that when
the disaster struck on March 11th, Japan had been rebuilding its
society for 66 years after the devastation of World War II, and the number 4 refers
to the four reactors that were damaged in Fukushima.

Hirabayashi
was also asked to explain the meaning of the newly formed cicada that appears
the black rain in 663114 as well as
about the language of the cicada. He replies that cicada that is born after
the black rain, 66 years later, is polluted by radioactive rain. Thus, the cicada is altered by the
radioactivity. The language of the cicada
is artificial, but they intended for it to have a spiritual, prayer-like
meaning.

The
most important message that Hirabayashi wanted to get across with the film is
about the saving of children. The children
whose lives have been dramatically altered by Fukushima should be our first
priority. “This is our first prayer: to
be able to save children.”

23 January 2012

Ever since I got my hands on a copy of the published version of Laputa’s Top 150 Japanese and World Animation (2003) in autumn 2010, I have been writing off and on about individual animators responses to the 2003 survey. There were quite a range of responses, all of which tell us a great deal about the animators themselves. The first generation of postwar "anime" animators - like Yoichi Kotabe, Reiko Okuyama, Eiichi Yamamoto, and Takashi Yanase, were influenced by a wide range of both domestic and foreign animation both popular and artistic. Animators who followed in the footsteps of this first wave of anime like Keiichi Hara, tend to be strongly influenced by domestic anime of the 70s and 80s.

The stop motion animator Maya Yonesho has one foot firmly planted in Japan and the other in Europe and her lyrically beautiful films explore the idea of animation as a universal language, as you can read in my 2008 profile of her as an artist.

In the 2003 survey, Yonesho lists a wide range of animation from around the world whose animation techniques are as varied as their cultural origins. Yonesho's selection could easily make up the course contents of an introduction to world animation. If you haven't seen the films in her list, you have really been missing out on some pretty remarkable art.You can support Maya Yonesho by ordering a DVD of her Abstract AnimationWorks from Anido today.

The human mind loves to try to bring
order to chaos. That is why readers are
drawn to classic detective fiction like that of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle or Agatha Christie
where we marvel at the ability of Sherlock Holmes or Hercules Poirot to solve the
mystery conclusively by bringing together threads of clues and witness
testimonies. The modern detective;
however, will tell you that such eyewitness testimony is often not very
reliable. Not only can it be coloured by
prejudice, but the human mind can sometimes play tricks on us.

The first sign in Sway (ゆれる, 2006) that
Takeru Hayakawa (Joe Odagiri) is not
a reliable witness comes when he returns to his home town for his mother’s
funeral. The self-anointed black sheep of the Hayakawa family, Takeru barges
late into the funeral services dressed head to toe in red, inciting his father
(Masatō Ibu) into a rage over his
lack of filial piety. The root of the
bad feeling appears to be Takeru’s decision to reject joining the family
business – a non-nondescript gas station – to become a big shot photographer in
Tokyo. Yet, Isamu Hayakawa’s extreme
reaction to his son suggests the strife runs even deeper into the family’s
history.

The older brother Minoru (Teruyuki Kagawa), tries to bridge the
yawning chasm between them by giving Takeru their mother’s Fujicascope
projector and old 8mm home movies she took when they were little. One of the 8mm reels contains footage of a
family outing to Hasumi Gorge, where Minoru recalls fondly fishing there with
their father. Takeru does not remember
ever going to the gorge and Minoru teases him, telling Takeru prophetically
that he has selective memory made cloudy by the Tokyo smog.

The camaraderie between the brothers sours when Takeru decides to seduce his old girlfriend Chieko Kawabata
(Yōko Maki). Chieko has been working for
the Hayakawas since the company she used to work for went under. She had a friendly, flirtatious relationship
with Minoru and he’d been hoping she might take a fancy to him. Chieko joins the brothers on a trip to visit
Hasumi Gorge, and her shocking sudden death at the old suspension bridge is the
mystery that sets into motion the remainder of the film. However, whether or not Minoru was responsible for Chieko's death is really just a red herring. The true question is whether or not this tragedy will bring the brothers closer together or tear their tenuous relationship apart forever.

Director Miwa Nishikawa has a deft hand for creating dramatic tension in her
screenplays. Whereas the master of
suspense, Alfred Hitchcock, would
create it by showing the audience more than what the characters know, Nishikawa
creates suspense by withdrawing visual information from us. We only see as much of the events on that fateful
day as Takeru can remember, and we are drawn into his struggle to find a way to
help his brother avoid being sentenced to prison for murder while remaining
true to himself. We share Takeru’s
frustration at not knowing all the details of what led to Chieko falling from
the bridge.

Sway is an
extraordinary film which at turns recalls the themes of Akira Kurosawa’s Rashōmon
(1950), the mysterious beauty of Peter
Greenaway’s Picnic at Hanging Rock
(1975), and the withholding of information narrative structure of Atom Egoyan’s Exotica (1994). The colours
in Sway are muted, but beautifully
done and like Hitchcock and Kurosawa one has the impression that every frame
of the film was carefully composed ahead of the filming. It’s the type of film one needs to watch more
than once in order to appreciate the subtle nuances of expression and meaning.

Catherine Munroe Hotes 2012

The Japanese DVD release of Sway has
excellent English subtitles for the feature, no subs for the extras. The film was so well received at festivals
that it also got a US release.

22 January 2012

“This story makes no sense,” a
frustrated German police officer says at the beginning of Lars Henning’s dark
tale Oshima (大島, 2010), and asks the Japanese language
interpreter to have the haggard and bruised-looking salaryman before him to
repeat his story one more time from the beginning. The man introduces himself as Taburo Oshima
and says that he just arrived from Tokyo on business.

The opening credits are positioned
over the clouds and a girl’s voice tells us that this is the story of her
father, who in October 2002 came to Germany on business with plans of
continuing on to the United States. The tale that he told to the police is the
last official record of his existence.
He disappeared without a trace.
The girl mysteriously goes on to explain that while her mother never
told her what happened that night, she nevertheless knows what happened that
night.

Oshima, played by
Japan-born/Germany-raised actor Yuki Iwamoto, arrives in Germany in a
haze. In addition to jet lag, Oshima may
be experiencing extreme side effects from the depression medication Opipramol
that he consumes on the flight. He
passes out upon arrival at the airport, and is looked after by an airport employee
(Hakan Orbeyi). He somewhat recovers and stumbles out of the
baggage retrieval area into the arms of an eager-to-curry-favour German
businessman, Herr Kleinschmidt (Devid Striesow), and his interpreter, Frau Izumi
(Nina Fog).

Oshima’s wooziness continues in the
car journey to the hotel and over the course of this half hour dramatic short,
he passes in and out of consciousness due to a mixture of over-medication,
alcohol consumption, and just plain exhaustion.
Oshima seems disinterested in his business dealings with Herr
Kleinschmidt and barely even aware of his surroundings for most of the
film. In an off-hand comment to Frau
Izumi, which she curiously does not translate to her boss, Oshima reveals that
he has lost his entire family in an accident. Izumi is drawn to him, but at the same time
suspicious that this man may not be who he says he is. Are we witnessing the mental collapse of a
salaryman or is there something more going on here? Oshima’s vision of a white unicorn on the
darkened streets of this anonymous German city suggest deeper layers to this man’s
story which the viewer must unravel for him/herself.

The ambiguity of the storyline could
have been disastrous if not for the sensitive and subtle acting performances of
Iwamoto and Fog. Their faces are very expressive and hint at a deeper emotional story than is implicit in the
dialogue and narration. Lars Henning (b. 1976, Hamburg) is the director of the much
acclaimed short Security (2006) which won prizes at the Avanca Film Festival
and Lübeck Nordic Film Days. He pursued
a postgraduate degree in television and film at the Academy of Media Arts
Cologne (Kunsthochschule für Medien Köln) between 2006 and 2010. This is his fourth short film. It is a melancholic tale with beautifully executed
transitions. The cinematographer, Carol
Burandt von Kameke, and crew have done a remarkable job of lighting these very dark night scenes with great skill. Many scenes have a masterful chiaroscuro look. With most young filmmakers
today opting to go digital for budgetary reasons, it is a real delight to
discover a short film shot beautifully on 35mm funded by cultural
institutions. Oshima is a rare gem that
showed on arte before Christmas and at Japan Week in Frankfurt in November. Looking forward to seeing more work by this
director.

16 January 2012

Mirai Mizue continues his
experimentation with music and movement in his latest “cell animation” Tatamp.
Not to be confused with the animation technique of “cel animation”,
Mizue’s unique style of “cell animation” is hand-drawn and coloured on paper
then scanned onto the computer for editing.
The name refers to the fact that the creatures that he draws resemble
amoeba and other minute organic creatures one might find under the lens of a microscope.

As the onomatopoetic
title Tatamp suggests, sound designer
twoth (aka Shinichi Suda) employs a number of
different percussive sounds (shakers, synth, snare drum, etc.) in this piece in
addition to harp, whistle, loon calls and other experimental noises. As with Jam (2009), the film begins in a
minimalistic fashion with one sound being represented by a moving shape or
shapes. The cells splash onto the screen
and disappear like fireworks exploding in the sky. The appearance and movement of the shapes is
directly related to the timbre and duration of each sound.

The more full
the soundtrack, the more full the screen is with shapes, and as the tempo
increases, so too the movement of the shapes.
The score follows a pattern of rising and falling with the screen alive
with abstract shapes and a chaos of movement at each peak. The grand finale is an explosion of
colour and movement with the individual “cells” layered densely on the
screen. Another fantastic film from
Mizue in the tradition of visual music.

In December, the 29th Torino Film
Festival (TFF, 25 November – 3 December 2011) honoured Sion Sono by featuring
his oeuvre in their Rapporto confidenziale
(Confidential Report) section. This annual
programme aims to take note of emerging auteurs, genres, and other trends in
international cinema.

In honouring Sono, TFF describes him
as an “eccentric and mesmerizing Japanese poet, novelist and director” whose
works had never before been screened in Italian cinemas. They
go on to call him a “visionary” and a “provocative and dynamic filmmaker. .
. [who] mixes mixes
psychoanalysis and Grand Guignol, melodrama and pop culture, horror and
politics, serial killers and dark ladies.” (source)

The book is edited by Dario Tomasi
and Franco Picollo and features the writing of not only the editors but also Claudia
Bertolè, Matteo Boscarol, Luca Calderini, Giacomo Calorio, Emanuela Martini,
Grazia Paganelli, and Fabio Rainelli.
The cover features a photograph of the director taken at TFF. The book includes a complete filmography with
titles in Japanese/romaji/English/ Italian

For non-Italian speakers, I
recommend checking out the Sonatine website using Google Translate. As Italian sentence structure is very similar
to English it is quite readable – unlike the bizarre world of Google JP to EN!! Check out the following reviews on Sonatine:

13 January 2012

The great Russian animator Yuri Norstein (aka Yuriy Norshteyn, b. 1941)
is widely admired in Japan by both mainstream and independent animators
alike. His works The Hedgehog in the Fog (1975) and The Tale of Tales (1978) topped the Laputa
Top 150 Japanese and World Animation poll done in 2003. His work is so beloved that even his
unfinished adaptation of Nikolai Gogol’s
short story The Overcoat entered the
list at #92. Norstein himself
participated in the 2003 poll and his picks are listed below.

But first, a bit of background
information:

Yuri Norstein has close ties to the Laputa International Animation Festival. The festival
began in 2000 and semi-annually presents the Yuri Norstein Award (ユーリ・ノルシュテイン大賞) – with, I believe, Norstein
himself acting as the head of the jury. The prize was jointly awarded in its inaugural
year to Hiroyuki Tsutita for his
film Mutate and to Hiroshi Okuda for Prisoner. Oscar-winner animator
Kunio Katō won the Yuri Norstein
Award twice: first in 2001 for The Apple Incident and again in 2004 for
The Diary of Tortov Roddle. Hosokawa
Susumu won the award in 2005 for Demons
and Yusuke Sakamoto won in 2006 for The Telegraph Pole Mother. In 2008, the award was given to a
non-Japanese for the first time. Latvian
animator Vladimir Leschiov took the
prize for Lost In Snow. It was my understanding that the award would
be given out again in 2010, but I have been unable to find any evidence of this
happening – though they did show a retrospective of Norstein’s works at the
festival that year. The next festival
will have an activist theme as they put out a call for “Fukushima Animation”
last autumn. It is unclear when the 11th
festival will take place.

2007 saw the establishment of the Laputa Art Animation School – a “small
school” where they teach the art of making animation by hand (puppet, cutout,
drawn, etc.). The school creation is
credited to Norstein’s insistence that Japan needed its own school of animation
in the vein of the great Eastern European centres for training animators. The school even uses Norstein’s iconic
hedgehog as their logo. At Laputa,
indisputed masters of the art of animation including Fumiko Magari and Sumiko Hosaka –
puppet masters who worked for Tadanari
Okamoto and Kihachirō Kawamoto –
and the avant-garde legend Yōji Kuri
teach students the tricks of the trade.

There are no surprises in Yuri Norstein’s top 20. He lists a cross-section of some of the very
best in world animation with nods to both early animation pioneers (Ladislaw
Starewicz, Alexandre Alexeieff, Claire Parker, Mikhail Tsekhanovsky, Norman
McLaren, David Hand, Jiří Trnka) and terrific contemporary work (Nick Park,
Aleksandr Petrov, Michael Dudok de Wit).
He even gives a nod to his Japanese hosts in recognizing the work of
Osamu Tezuka and Kihachirō Kawamoto. If
you were teaching a course on world animation of the 20th century and
could only show 20 films – this list would suit nicely. Though you would be hard-pressed to find a
copy of Frantisek Vystrcil’s The Place in
the Sun.